


Flying comes before falling

by hamlets_ghost



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: (in a way), Canon Compliant, Discussion of Death, M/M, Post-Canon, Stream of Consciousness, discussion of depressive themes, im sorry it hurts me at much as it hurts you, jacobi is trans and gay fight me, not really a happy ending but maybe a hopeful one?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:27:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22957924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hamlets_ghost/pseuds/hamlets_ghost
Summary: A year since Jacobi outlived both of his teammates and nothing feels right anymore.
Relationships: Daniel Jacobi & Alana Maxwell, Daniel Jacobi/Warren Kepler, Doug Eiffel & Daniel Jacobi
Comments: 2
Kudos: 26





	Flying comes before falling

”I’m fine”

He had said it so many times today it started to feel weird in his mouth, the words losing meaning in his own head, as he repeated them over and over again. But they hadn’t really held much meaning the first time he had said them either. It was easier though. Easier to pretend. To smile. To joke like he always did. It was easier to handle the irritation and the exasperation than the pity that would come to the surface otherwise. Jacobi was tired of the pity, which he had seen enough of when the last one year anniversary hit them. That one had made Minkowski quiet and distant. She had been walking around Jacobi as one would with a hurt animal, whom they weren’t sure wouldn’t lash out and hurt itself in the process. Doug hadn’t really understood what was going on, but someone must have filled him in, because soon he too was walking around on feathery feet around Jacobi, pity in his gaze. Lovelace tried to make it seem like nothing was out of the ordinary, but wouldn’t challenge Jacobi as she normally did. He had tried to rile her up. Make her irritated enough to yell at him, but she just gave him a tight smile and a tired look. And the pity again. Hera was mourning too. She had long since forgives Maxwell it seemed like. She hadn’t been very vocal about it, but it was obvious.  
In the evening one year since Maxwell’s death Hera had tried to talk to him. Her careful words and feelings had been too much for Jacobi. He had walked out of the house, shaking with hate and disgust and so much hurt. None of these people knew Maxwell like he had. None of them had loved her as much as he had. Hera may have loved her in her own way, but she hadn’t carried Alana after she had gotten shot in the leg. Up the stairs and out to the open night sky after a particular bad mission. Sat under the blankets in an impromptu pillow fort in a crappy motel room, telling made-up story about childhoods they never had; sometimes including the other person as their sibling as if they had grown up together. Badly half sung, half yelled out lyrics in tune to the songs on the radio as they were sitting in the back seat of a way too hot car. Driving, moving, never getting anywhere.

Maxwell and Jacobi. Jacobi and Maxwell. Alana and Daniel. Everything either of them had ever wanted.

That day was over. He had been moving into the second year without Maxwell by his side with the grace of a wingless bird. Thumbling, and hurting, but still moving forward. 

His first year with Kepler had been filled with new experiences, impossible missions that had somehow succeeded, bloody wounds and knees and mouths, ups and downs, never touching the ground. It had felt like falling and flying at the same time. The post-mission high feeling better each time even though his body count kept climbing up and up and up. But then Kepler would look at him, and smile at him and say “Good work, mister Jacobi” and the would fly again. It had ended in an anniversary with fireworks and quite conversations and then less quite moments in Kepler’s bed afterwards.

The first year without Kepler had been heavy. Empty. Jacobi was empty because he was filled with too much. He was good at compartmentalizing, but he knew that if he kept emptying himself he would start to float away. What’s the difference between floating and flying? Control? But was he ever really in control when he had been flying with Kepler? Hadn’t he just been swept, Kepler controlling the distance and the height? _How high do you want me, sir? What can I do for you to be proud of me? To let my fly with you, over the world and the filth that you never seem to touch or let touch you._ Jacobi was empty and still so, so heavy.

“It’s cold out here”

Doug’s voice cut through the silence, as he sat down by the wall beside Jacobi. Doug was so different from Eiffel. He was empty too, but in another way than Jacobi. He was empty because there was nothing left of him. He was trying to learn stuff again, trying to figure out who and what he was. One of those things apparently involved Jacobi. Doug had somehow decided that Jacobi was the person he wanted to be around, following him around and talking to him about things he had seen or stuff he had read. Jacobi wasn’t really interested, but knew that Doug didn’t have anyone else. _You don’t have anyone either. You are just as empty as him, Mr. Jacobi, don’t forget that._ So he let Doug talk to him and nodded along. Mumbling affirmations at the right times and smiling when necessary. _Long story short…_ he was good at that.

Doug had nightmares. The worst part being that as soon as he woke up, he couldn’t remember anything about it at all.

“Sometimes I can taste it on my tongue. Like if I tried hard enough a memory will appear somehow explaining the dream”

Doug said into the dark room, huddled close to Jacobi. He did that. Wander into Jacobi’s room in the middle of the night. Waking the other with tears in his eyes and thoughts he needed to vocalize before being able to calm down again. And he had decided Jacobi was the person he wanted to trust with that. Of all people. Jacobi wanted to shake him, yell at him that he was the worst person here. A killer with no moral integrity nor shame. _Can’t you see the red on my hands? On my forearms? On my face? Can’t you see how rotten and wrong I am? How empty I am?_ Instead Jacobi would sit and let Doug talk, staring at the opposite wall, hands in his lap and his stare. Doug would normally talk himself tired and he would end up sleeping in Jacobi’s bed, as Jacobi would sleep either beside him or on the floor depending on nothing in particular.

Why Doug had picked Jacobi as his anchor was a mystery to all of the people in their little safe house, but looking around Jacobi wasn’t really that surprised. Hera and Minkowski still treated him like a loved stranger, keeping him close but never closer than necessary, afraid of the hurt and the sorrow of looking too close on his face and seeing another person that they had lost. Lovelace was helping Doug through a collection of movies and series, finding him books to read and music to listen to. But still, she was closer to a guardian figure than a friend, helping him in ways he didn’t know what to do with. Pryce wasn’t better of that Doug. So Jacobi it was.

 _Don’t use paper as an anchor,_ he wanted to tell Doug, _it will float away and dissolve, and then you will be just as lost as before._

He didn’t. Instead he let the other man rest his head on Jacobi’s shoulder. The snow around them was making the darkness less heavy. Clear sky above and starts visible in all directions.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m fine”

The words was as empty as Jacobi felt, tasting of ashes and lies with just a hint of fine whiskey. It was easier like this. That was what he kept telling himself.

_Don’t fly too close to the sun. You may end up getting addicted to the feeling. And then when you inevitable fall, nothing will fill the emptiness it will leave behind._

**Author's Note:**

> I'm very emotional about SI5 and Daniel Jacobi. Is it very obvious?  
> Thanks for reading it and I hope you liked it!


End file.
